The Stopped Clock - The Tournament

I had one of those days at work where nothing seems to go right. At five o'clock sharp I was out the office door, gesticulating back at my place of business with both middle fingers extended. On such days there is really only one thing to do, and that is to go to your friendly neighborhood bar and have several drinks, where 'several' attempts to walk the tightrope between 'insufficient' and 'slow your roll'. My feet found the all-too-familiar path back to The Stopped Clock, a dive bar that happens to provide custom to a clientele largely composed of time travelers. I wasn't a time traveler, but I had it on good authority that I would be one someday. Yeah, I found it confusing too, but the drinks were cheap.

When I pushed my way through the cheap screen door, I saw that most of the regulars were in attendance. My grizzled old friend Retro Retro had abandoned his usual post on a barstool and was poring over some papers. Sir Attaccus and Bobby Saturday were among the crowd peering over his shoulders. Sir Attaccus was fidgeting as usual, constantly nervously adjusting his bowler with the crook of his umbrella, and even the ultra-cool Bobby Saturday wore a worried expression. Retro Retro did a double-take as I walked in and broke into a broad grin.

"Andy!" he exclaimed warmly. "So good to see you, buddy!"

I considered a rapid retrograde maneuver. Retro Retro is usually after your money, your beer or something else that's yours on a good day. If Retro Retro was that happy to see me, I knew I was in serious trouble. But over at the bar, I saw that Edgar was working a shaker and was pouring something dark into a martini glass. He made a thumb-and-forefinger pistol at me and winked. I can't resist a Manhattan, especially after a crappy day.

I collected my drink at the bar. The regulars were instantly all over me. Retro Retro put a comradely arm around my shoulder. I quickly felt for my wallet. To my surprise it was still there.

"Andy," purred Retro Retro. "My very good friend. What do you know about a game called… bowling?"

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Power (8x100 words)

The primitive sits and watches the sun set over a plateau. The spread of color and the play of light are miracles, a source of wonder.

The primitive is not hungry; her family has food and shelter and few fears. At last she has time to think a new thought, and that thought is: how? How do miraculous things happen? How can the sun paint the whole world in tawny gold and burnt orange?

In some remote part of her mind, long before she has the tools of logic and reason, the primitive knows that the sun holds power. How?
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